30 April 2012

I Don’t Remember


I don’t remember


The summer loves

And winter tragedies

Softly spoken promises

And bitter recrimination


I don’t remember


Any of you

Partners in crimes

Too sweet to resist


I don’t remember


Carved by bloody lies

And broken promises

Or the hand

That wielded the knife


I don’t remember


28 April 2012

Good Thing

My spirit rises
In spiraling smoke
The perfect symmetry
For the happy head
Warm rain falls
On the Persian plain
My cathedral high
The choir within
Hosanna to the day
Baby is home
The rest is natural
Moon orbits the Earth
Earth orbits the Sun
Together they generate
The good thing

25 April 2012



Did your Moses get lost?

Forty years in the wilderness

Has hollowed your bones

Was your Jesus cold?

Did he cast the first stone?

Do you long for home?

Wherever that is

Is there a time out of mind

Your heart is drawn too?

Vague and unsettling

The dream of love



22 April 2012


Hold it
Kiss it
Caress it
Squeeze it
Squash it
Pound it
What’s left of the heart
What’s meted out
To you and I
In all our summers
Of want and lust
Longing and desire
Is immeasurable
In all eternity

21 April 2012

Something’s Coming



Something’s coming…

Something’s coming

From a long way off

Bury your head

Plough a new furrow

Cultivate a little distance

From the past


20 April 2012

Kissing God


“Smoking this stuff is like kissing God” – hyperbole, he did a good line in embroidery. Of course the stuff was lethal – laced with DMT – Happy times spread across my face like the warmth of the morning sun and unfolded in my lap like a royal flush. I swam where the dolphins swam and ran where the children ran. I found the place where all the dreamers came from. I was as light as the breeze, as helpless as a child. I wouldn’t leave a ripple if you dropped me in the ocean. “See the little crystals? That’s the magic right there, in them crystals.” So he thought; the magic was in us – in the forms reflected in that crystal fountain – one of which was God.


13 April 2012

Blackboard Army



An army of blackboards

A phalanx of desks


My education


And repressed


A confinement

Of questions


A confusion

Of answers


And a sprinkling

Of lies


A squeezing

Of square pegs

Into round holes


12 April 2012




The sin of pride

Stiffens the knees

The fault of logic

Breeds tiny Spartacus’s

Against the great fable

My god’s are musicians

Dylanesque skatellites

Cardboard cutouts

Of phony electromania

My magic bullets zig zag presidentially

Into the heart of the Saviour

I’m the lone gunman

I never miss the mark

Bring on the conflict

I wanna get it on

Peace and harmony

Breed stagnation

And armchair horrors

Roll out the H bombs

Let’s go nuclear

Could anything be more senseless

Or sterile

Than God’s terrible plan?

10 April 2012

Monkey Wrench

There are words in my head, lurking near the surface of my mind, like convicts awaiting parole – words no man will ever hear. There are colors hidden in the angles of my eyes no one shall ever know the names of. My words are sharpened like axes – my expressions are bent old shovels. I bear the marks of a thousand tiny cuts got in the market place of flesh; where no dilettante dare show face – for fear of getting hired.

We worked for cuts and grazes, bruises and contusions, splinters and electrocutions. The pay was good, but the hours were fuckin’ miserable. Come rain or shine we worked the rain and shine. We slipped on the slippery and rolled with the rollicking. There was double time on Sundays and time and a half for every other day where going home was off the cards. We monkeys were wrenched from home by the promise of riches and wild women. Some of us found the women, but the closest we ever got to riches was a pot to piss in. I knew men who were carved in stone; they say a rolling stone gathers no moss, but they don’t gather too much cash either. We were busy rising from destitution to poverty – that kinda work had no future, just the promise of some good times before you die.

All hands on deck – man the Capstan filters! I play this keyboard like Art Tatum and I got no fuckin’ fingers! - I lick these keys like they were made of toffee. This here machine is my shovel now and there’s no health and safety to protect my head from management's mind games. I got to tell you labour relations took a dip when I left the union. Now I gotta negotiate my hours with an insomniac and my wages with a madman “No cash flow – no dough, get back to work and remember I love you Johnny and I’m always right behind you” Seems that love conquers all, but poverty and toothache. You can’t quit poverty – poverty quits you, but you can always sell your teeth. No matter how hard life gets you have to live it, you can’t divorce it and call it bitch. You gotta cultivate your life no matter how much it stinks. I never worry too much for new stuff or pals. Things don’t change, we do. Whatever happens I’ll always have my thoughts, (unless I get Alzheimer’s) I’ve been places no man has been – no women either, not real ones. All hands on deck – man the Capstan filters! I wonder if I befriended that young lady – would she lick my keyboard? I get so tongue tied and a boy appreciates a little conversation now and then.

8 April 2012


Some thoughts are so fragile that they fall apart under the scantest scrutiny or break up on the breeze like dandelions. Ideas that are hung like gnats can somehow survive epochs and find themselves whispered in the halls of power with the delicacy of beating butterfly wings – if the butterflies were whores and their clients were witless as lambs.
The war on drugs was such an idea. It was as exotic sounding as it was facile. Yes, drugs are evil. On one hand there legal, or good, drugs; such as booze and cigarettes and on the other there are illegal, or evil, drugs; like marijuana and heroin. Yes, evil drugs kill millions of people every year, while good drugs make billions of dollars every year. The facts were there for all the people to see; there was no other course of action left to the government but war!
The war on drugs, like any other war, was really a war on people. Of course the people who were to be exterminated in the war on drugs were secretive, so secretive they did not even know each other! So secretive they could not be found! This was an utter humiliation to a government dedicated to the eradication of drugs – they could not locate a bunch of stoners.
The trend is towards control; the war on drugs is a war on ideas. The whole reeking edifice is dying – herniated and ulcerous in a pandemic of hypochondria. The bastards are trying to take our weapons away - drugs are our last psychic defence. The government are the preparing an invasion; the mediocre are queuing up on the sidelines - just preparing to take our places.

7 April 2012



They say we came from dust

And to dust we shall return

That there is no heaven above

No kingdom yet to come

But I can show you heaven

It’s ecstasy coming and going

Between flesh and blood

Because heaven is really love



6 April 2012

The Biggest Lie


You was the giant killer

Big chief of the Zulus

You was a hard man

King of the Hoodoos

Your word was law

Your name was God

But I saw you crying

You’re the biggest lie

That has ever been told


5 April 2012

The Art Of Killing


I’m gonna kill you with kindness

I’ll murder you with love

Humiliate you with humour

I’m gonna show you how

To dream seamless victories

I’m the last samurai

The King of the Zulus

You’ll crack at my smile

Just because I mean it

Knowing that you hate me

But I love you all the while


I Fought


I fought for my life – they gave me no choice

I don’t want to be a killer & I don’t want to die

I don’t want to hold the trigger, I don’t wanna fry

I just wanna be a rich man baby, or at least try

Don’t want to be a thief – they stole my whole life

Don’t hold out much hope for peace – my enemies know why

You say you’re returning with the keys to the kingdom,

But first you’ll have find a way that you can steal them

I fought for my life and I done a good job

I got me a future baby and it don’t include strife

I don’t want to hold no trigger baby I don’t want to fry

I want to be a rich man, or at least to try

I’d never be no thief – although they stole my life

I don’t hold out much hope for peace –

You’d best ask my enemies why

I fought for my life – don’t want to fight no more

I just want to live right now and I’m only learning how


3 April 2012


The nicotine stains on my brain are the diarrhea brown of the nearly and merely satisfied mailings of big tobacco’s deathly shit. Their tubular bells burn cyanic tunes on my ganglions toasting the filaments of my grey matter with transitory satisfaction as I give my life by degrees for less than a hit.

The colour spume from my black lung is acrid slime against my hollow throat and sends the message that I’m still breathing against the odds through blackened lungs caked with tar. I breath in and wheeze out. I breath in and wheeze out. I’m well down the road, just forty years old.

2 April 2012



I dreamed that they banned music and silence was all we had to express our emotions. Silence softly ate at our minds and infiltrated our hearts until we were made of nothing but emptiness. Our voices contained no lyricism, or colour. Our thoughts contained no conflict, or wonder. Even our faces gave up and died – their blank countenances conveyed neither happiness nor pain, their egoless expressions were one and the same. A world without music was a world without tears, a world without laughter. A world without music was empty ever after.


Image ‘Mute’ by Maya Kulenovic


Just Words


I like a long slow burn

I like it on top

I like you on top too
Get on top let me breathe
Lets talk in tongues woman

Lets mix our juices

Til they taste real nice

Let’s talk in tongues

Just like the angels do

Some words bear repeating

And others take some beating

Words like love and hate

Words that have some weight

Words that bear repetition

Like they’re ammunition

They fuck with the mind

And won’t be confined

To sentimental prose

Cause they land like blows

Words like fuck and cunt

We deliver with a grunt

Words that bear repetition

Explode like nuclear fission

Some people get a shock

From written words like cock

But they’re just words you see

And they belong to you and me